Hurt me once
by A-Pinch-Of-Sanity
Summary: The Nogitsune left nothing but death and destruction in its wake and Stiles is unwilling to live in a reality where so many people died because of his mistakes. So he makes a deal, his life in exchange for another. Unfortunately for Stiles, the term "life" has many interpretations and the Nemeton decides they like the Spark far too much to take it in the literal sense.
1. Chapter 1

**Beacon Hills CA,**

**The Preserve, 9:30pm**

The Nemeton hummed loudly and shuddered, violent tremors spreading out from its ringed centre to the very edges of its gnarled and blackened roots.

Standing in the middle of the tree feet bare and dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow, Stiles shivered a little in the autumn chill, almost dropping the thick leatherbound book he balanced precariously in one hand whilst clutching a stick of white chalk in the other. The full moon hung brightly in the sky overhead, its thin silvery beams travelling down into the clearing and casting speckles of moonlight across the damp surface of the leaf-littered ground. Chewing the skin of his bottom lip the usually bright and enthusiastic teen mumbled frantically to himself, his sharp whiskey coloured eyes assessing the diagram scrawled across the book's thick yellowing pages with an intense concentration.

At first glance, the design on the page looked deceptively simple, consisting only of what seemed like a basic triquetra interlaced with a circle in the centre of the three leaf-shaped lobes. However, closer inspection would reveal that what originally appears as rough black lines of ink making up the sketch, is actually a series of intertwined futhark Celtic letters. A considerably difficult design to replicate using only moonlight for illumination, contrary to how easy the tv show Supernatural always made it look. But then again, Stiles mused sourly to himself, the Winchesters could use their flashlights and phones whereas he was stuck in the dark with his substandard human eyesight lest he risks being found by the remainders of his Pack.

"Motherfucking druids and their cryptic ass spells with over-complicated diagrams. Can't just be an easy shape like a triangle." Huffing to himself he crouched down, adding the final finishing symbols to the design with a confident flourish, and after casting one last scrutinising eye across the chalk etchings on the bark he nodded, happy that it matched.

Cracking his stiff neck Stiles began to stand back up, only managing to rise a few inches before the newly completed design exploded with a sudden and violent flash of white light. Falling backwards the teen yelped loudly in surprise, stars danced behind his eyelids, as the sheer brightness of the light succeeded in blinding him momentarily. Blinking the spots away dazedly Stiles grunted in pain as a sharp ache began to form from where his back made forceful contact with the solid wood. Cursing druids once again he climbed back to his feet, picking up the book which had gotten dropped during his unexpected trip onto his backside.

Brows furrowing slightly he flicked to the next page in the book just as an electrical buzzing began to crackle through the air, the fine hairs covering his arms and the nape of his neck standing up on end in response. Stubbornly ignoring the intense sensation of danger now crawling its way up his spine he read the rest of the ancient instructions, muttering under his breath "alrighty then, next step is the mixing of magical herbs and blood drawn from the Spar-"

"STILES!"

Well, fuck.

Neck snapping upwards Stiles scowled into the darkness, his hands clutching the book in an almost painfully tight grip as the familiar figures of Scott, Derek and Lydia crashed their way into the clearing, their gazes frantically taking in Stiles and his position casually standing on the active Nemeton. Absently Stiles noted that all three of them were still wearing their funeral outfits from earlier that day. Biting back the urge to laugh bitterly and hysterically at the unwanted reminder, Stiles gave the shocked trio a disarmingly bright smile and addressed them, his voice never wavering in its sickly false cheer "Hey Scotty, Derek, Lyds. What's up?".

An awkward beat of silence passed as Scott stared at him in an odd combination of devastation, disbelief and downright anger. And if Stiles was being brutally honest, and he was, it was pretty amusing to watch his friend flicker through so many emotions at one time before finally deciding to settle on his usual brand of righteous fury.

"What's up? What's up?! Is that seriously all you can say, Stiles? What the hell dude! First you pull a disappearing act after the funeral and nobody can get in touch with you or find you! And then Deaton rings to tell me you've broken into the Vet's and stolen one of his books?" his best friend yelled incredulously. Raising his brows and cocking his head a little Stiles gave the trio his best approximation of a 'fair enough' expression and let his friends continue their ranting, it was probably therapeutic for them or some shit.

"And now when we finally find you, hours later in the middle of the night, you're standing on the Nemeton and acting like everything is normal when it clearly isn't! There's something going on with you Stiles, and we're worried" Lydia chimed in, her eyes narrowing in that freakishly knowing way that used to make Stiles slightly afraid of her, used to being the operative words here. Nodding in a fair acknowledgement of her words Stiles flickered his eyes over to Derek who stood silently in the middle, his beta blue eyes flashing in the night underneath impossibly expressive brows. Holding back a sigh Stiles spoke up, already done with the conversation as a whole but still feeling generous enough to let the last member of the Pack have their say on his apparent mental instability. "You got something to say too Der-bear? I mean these two pretty much have it covered with the whole 'we think you've lost it' spiel but I thought I'd at least give you a chance".

And surprise! Surprise! Derek growled low in his throat in response to his sarcasm, his fists clenching tightly at his sides, no doubt in order to hide his emerging claws "get off the Nemeton, Stiles. Now!". At this point Stiles couldn't help but laugh out loud, his chest hurting with something visceral, grief maybe? Or perhaps exhaustion? Either way he laughed for the first time in weeks at his Sourwolf and the ache inside just deepened. "Always such a way with words Derek, but, as tempted as I am to listen to you, which is like 12%. I have important things to do. So...if you could all just go that would be great".

Deeming the conversation over with Stiles proceeded to focus back at the scrawled words in the spellbook, feigning indifference at the three pack members who lingered, gawking at him from the edges of his peripheral vision.

After a few silent moments passed movement flickered at the corner of his eye as Derek, Scott and Lydia huddled together communicating quietly between each other whilst sending conspiratorial glances his way. Rolling his eyes Stiles pressed his lips together to suppress a tiny smirk. Did they honestly think held even an iota of a chance at stopping him? Did they assume he wouldn't have a contingency plan in place if they turned up?

Naivety at its finest.

As if on queue Lydia started to speak up, drawing his attention towards her in an admirable attempt at distraction.

They forget he is was a trickster.

He knew all the chess moves.

"So what exactly is your grand plan then Stiles? Screw with the dark magic in the Nemeton and then what? Bring your dad back?".

Low blow.

Taking a deep breath to calm the sudden burst of anger he felt at her callous words, Stiles turned his attention briefly back to the Banshee who at least had some decency to look remorseful as he scowled. "Firstly, don't speak like you know what the hell I'm doing or feeling right now, both of your parents are alive so you have NO right to stand there and judge me. Second of all, You really think I'm that selfish Lyd's? That I would just bring him back when this town has lost so much? When so many others have died too?". Shaking his head Stiles leaned down once again, this time to place the book down and to drag a wooden offering bowl over to the centre of the Nemeton. The bowl, clearly hand carved with its bulky and rough appearance, had a light coloured surface which contrasted with the dark tone of the Celtic tree of life burned onto the inside of the bowl. Next, the Spark procured three glass vials of richly coloured herbs from the pockets of his dress slacks and poured the contents in one by one. Taking his pinkie finger Stiles carefully drew the Celtic symbol of life into the herbs creating a void in the mixture.

Suddenly, the area around the Nemeton flared up, a pulsing golden barrier flashing into existence like a spark of electricity before disappearing again and leaving a pitifully groaning Scott and Derek now roughly ten yards away, having been thrown back after attempting to charge at the Nemeton whilst Stiles was distracted. Raising a brow Stiles snorted at the sight of the two werewolves hissing in pain on the forest ground. "It's called a barrier Scott. No supernatural being can cross it without my permission" eyes sliding towards Lydia who had rushed to help them back to their feet he added with a cruel curl of his lip "including banshees".

All he earned in return were looks of deep hurt and confusion.

Sighing guiltily Stiles dropped his smirk in exchange for a softer look, gazing sadly at the trio as he pleaded desperately "look, I get it, okay. If it was any of you guys standing on this goddamn tree doing this then I'd be angry and hurt too. But this is my decision, I've put a lot of thought into it and I know I'm making the right choice, for everyone. So I just need you to trust me and leave, please".

Nobody spoke, and for a split second, the seventeen year old believed that maybe, just maybe his words had worked. Unfortunately, that belief disappeared when Derek started approaching the Nemeton again, face clouded with an emotion Stiles struggled to identify. "Stiles, I know it's hard, losing your dad on top of everything else Nogitsune did, I know you probably feel like it's all your fault but it isn't. Nobody blames you Stiles, nobody".

Shaking his head with a weak chuckle Stiles silently marvelled at the werewolf's bad timing, trust Derek to show his softer side just when he was about to die. It was a lot easier to be cold and indifferent towards a sour Sourwolf.

"No, but they should" with that said Stiles reached into his pocket, withdrawing an old Swiss army knife with a deep red handle. The surface was scratched with age, and a small etching of initials sat above a logo, J.S for Jaroslaw Stilinski, his great grandfather's name, a survivor of WWII.

A hero.

Maybe he could be a hero now too?

Face set in determination Stiles ignored the violent and desperate yells coming from each member of the Pack as he flipped open the tool's main spearheaded blade. Tears burning like lava at the corner of his eyes, he brought the blade swiftly across the soft pale flesh of his forearm, making sure to angle the limb so it hovered over the offering bowl. Red rapidly bubbled to the surface of the cut like an angry river, shining beads of ruby spilling over the surface of his tilted arm before dropping steadily into the bowl.

After a few seconds, the gaps drawn into the herbs was filled with his blood and Stiles quickly withdrew his injured arm, letting it hang uselessly at his side as he placed his other hand in the space above the bowl, fingers splayed. Meanwhile, the electricity in the air grew stronger, a heavy scent of ozone suffocating any other smells of the forest as sparks crackled audibly around the Nemeton.

"STOP!"

"STILES PLEASE!"

"STILES DON'T!"

Scott, Derek and Lydia shouted out one last time in almost perfect unison but the Spark just smiled once more before closing his eyes and uttering the words from the book.

"Fire, water, earth and air. Soul, body and mind. Take my sacrifice, hear my cry. Grant me my deepest desire".

All of a sudden a blinding flash of pure white light engulfed Stiles, and multiple cries of alarm rung out through the air before time just... froze. Everything went silent, the sound of his friends yells, the crackling of the energy in the air and the sounds of the forest around him all vanished. Blinking in slight confusion Stiles turned slowly on the spot, his eyes taking in the scene with slight awe. Above him was an owl, paused mid-flight on it's way across the clearing, wings spread outwards creating a silhouette of black against a silver moon.

It would make a pretty picture.

Distracted by this thought Stiles missed the gnarled hand that out and curled around his shoulder, sharp talon-like nails digging into chilled flesh. Swallowing back a yell the teen swivelled his body around to face the being touching him, his eyes landing on a small and decrepit looking woman with shrivelled ash-grey skin and sightless milky white eyes.

_We have gazed upon your soul and deemed it worthy of sacrifice. What is it that you desire?_ a croaking whisper echoed in his mind and Stiles almost choked on the air struggling to make its way into his lungs. The book never mentioned a creepy-ass looking crone!

Man, fuck Druids.

Stomping down on the fear which spiked suddenly at the appearance of the clearly unearthly creature, Stiles took a deep breath and focussed once again on the task at hand, a task which was starting to feel a lot more like making a deal with the Devil.

"The past few weeks… I've thought a lot about where things went wrong in this town and the thing I always find myself coming back to is the Hale fire. That was the catalyst, the first domino that made the whole thing tumble down. And in an ideal world, I'd just make it so that never happened, but that's not how magic works right? Because magic is all about equal exchanges of energy, so what you take, you have to give back. And one sacrifice from a Spark isn't equal to stopping a fire which took over ten lives" Stiles spoke confidently, hands gesticulating wildly in his usual manner. The being never blinked, but Stiles swore he saw the faint beginnings of a smile twitching at their thin black lips as their voice echoed once more in his mind.

_This is true._

Taking another deep breath Stiles bit his bottom lip before continuing, encouraged by the fact that the crone hadn't killed him yet. "But the thing is, magic is just a fancy contract right? And all contracts have loopholes. Well, it just so happens that I'm really, really good at finding loopholes. So even though I know asking outright for you to save the Hale family is out of the question, if I save someone, just one person, and then if it just so happens that in the act of saving that one person, the Hale fire never happens, then that's still an equal exchange". Pausing Stiles waited for a sign of confirmation from the creature, his heart thudding slightly in fear that he had somehow gotten it wrong, that all his work had gone to waste.

A few seconds of silence passed, and then a strange sound began to fill his head, almost like the laughter of a 1000 year old smoker, rough as sandpaper and broken glass but warmed with the hint of rare amusement. Eyebrows raising in shock Stiles watched as the being's unseeing eyes crinkled at the corners as sharp rotten yellow teeth flashed into sight between crookedly smiling lips.

_We like you, young one. You have a fire inside._

Chest deflating in relief Stiles barely resisted the urge to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead, beads of sweat had begun to gather in earnest underneath his fringe as he waited for the ancient beings reaction to his 'cheat code'. Swallowing roughly Stiles gave a shaky smile not quite believing his luck "so you'll do it? My life in exchange for bringing one person back?".

_Yes._

"Her name is Paige Krasikeva, she died after being bitten by an Alpha werewolf called Ennis, that's the life I'm trading for. No take backs" Stiles joked lightly, his eyes falling almost automatically on the still form of Derek Hale as his heart clenched painfully. The beta's beautiful hazel eyes were glowing an electric blue, his mouth frozen in a snarl as his body hung in the air, stretched out mid-lunge towards Stiles and the Nemeton.

_The female will live._

Stiles closed his eyes immediately rejecting the overwhelming urge to punch the air in triumph, somehow he didn't think the creature would appreciate such a display.

_You may say your goodbyes now, child._

Re-opening his eyes Stiles spared a soft but genuine "thanks" towards the being before stepping off the Nemeton and approaching Derek with a sad smile. Reaching upwards somewhat hesitantly, the teen trailed his fingertips gently down the side of Derek's chiselled jaw, skin tingling at the feeling of the man's stubble.

No time like right before you die to admit your feelings for someone right?

"I'm going to miss you Sourwolf, so much, and even though I know you probably won't remember me in this new timeline, I hope…" voice choking halfway out of his throat Stiles let out a rather pathetic sounding self-deprecating laugh. "I hope that there's at least a little part inside of you that's going to miss me too". With a gentle rub of his thumb across Derek's cheekbone Stiles stepped backwards, dragging his sleeve shirt under his nose as he rapidly blinked to get rid of the traitorous tears threatening to spill over his eyelids.

Lydia was next, her dark red painted lips wide open on the cusp of a deafening scream that will signal his death. Wiping away a tear dripping from the lower lashes of her left eye Stiles cleared his throat before speaking in his best approximation of a stern voice. "Miss Martin, I swear to god you better not go back to playing dumb again. Cause you're too good for that, too brilliant to waste away as some douchebags arm candy. You gotta go to MIT and be the first Beacon Hills resident to get a Field's medal for mathematics. So don't let me down, okay?".

Leaving a gentle kiss on the arch of the Banshee's cheek Stiles turned on his heel to face the last member of the now painfully tiny Pack, his best friend, Scott McCall. The alpha was positioned similarly to Derek, red eyes blazing through the darkness of the preserve and half shifted face stretched into a silent roar. Wrapping his arms around him as best as he could, Stiles squeezed his friend firmly before mumbling encouragingly into his ear "be a teenager buddy, fall in love, get drunk as shit and just ...have fun okay?". Pulling back Stiles gave Scott's shoulder squeeze "also, do me a favour and look after my dad will you? He's going to need someone to keep him in check, don't let him eat too much bacon and don't let him drink too much beer, it's bad for his arteries".

_The time has come._

The being announced almost reluctantly, beckoning Stiles back to the centre of the Nemeton.

Letting out a shallow breath Stiles smiled shakily, hands reaching out and letting the creature wrap their deathly cold grip around them. Closing his eyes Stiles licked his lips, acceptance seeping into every pore, his heart stuttering in anticipation as he whispered confidently to himself.

"Okay Stiles, time to die"

~~~~~~~~##~~~##~~~~~~~~

A blast of pure light exploded throughout the woodland area, heat rippling through the thousands of acres of greenery like a wave, towering trees and plants shrivelling to dust in wake of atomic bomb levels of radiation. Large plumes of smoke billowed outwards, soaring up towards the sun sitting high in the midday sky as the surrounding air crackled with the low simmering of an electric charge, similar to the atmosphere after a harsh lightning storm. Small flames danced in the breeze. Flickering hues of orange and yellow licking greedily at the surrounding vegetation, trying desperately to cling to life.

Letting out a cough, Stiles choked on the thick fumes which surrounded him like a smog, his body shaking uncontrollably as he knelt on the rough surface of the tree stump, fingers digging deeply into the warm, humming bark with each hacking shudder of his lungs, the sheer force causing his eyes to water.

Eventually, the smoke began to clear and Stiles began to feel his chest loosening with every breath of clean air until finally, his lungs stopped burning. Relaxing the teen dropped his sweat-slicked forehead to wood, shoulders slumping and curling inwards in exhaustion. After a few more moments filled only with the sound of his own breathing and the gentle crackling of the small fires, Stiles groaned loudly and collapsed onto his side, curling into a ball. Eyes staring out blankly at the surrounding chaos, he let out a small defeated laugh, his lungs still stinging from the smoke as he spoke softly to himself.

"Well, this doesn't look anything like heaven".


	2. Chapter 2

S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters

New York, 1400 hrs

Two days later

Tony Stark prided himself on being a fairly reasonable man at least 26% of the time, so when Director Fury requested- aka demanded- his presence at S.H.I.E.L.D's shiny New York headquarters, he headed out dutifully with only a minimal amount of grumbling. Mostly because it was a perfect opportunity for the genius to let J.A.R.V.I.S have a snoop around their servers. He still didn't trust the organisation as far as he could throw them and the whole debacle with the nuke during the Battle of New York only cemented that distrust.

It wasn't paranoia when the super spy organisation was actually shady as fuck.

…..And it seemed like he wasn't the only Avenger called to duty by good ol' one eye Nick.

Gazing at the other three occupants in the room over the frame of his designer shades Tony smirked and strolled towards one of the spinning chairs located around the large glass table, sitting down with a flourish as he propped his feet up on the surface. "It's like a Breakfast Club reunion! How are ya, Nat? Haven't seen you in a while" he greeted enthusiastically, giving the former Russian his most charming smile. Raising a sharp red brow in his direction Natasha twitched her lips upwards at the corner, the closest thing to a smile Tony has ever gotten from the spy, and probably will ever get. "I've seen you" she replied ominously, thumbs tap-tap-tapping away at the screen of her Stark phone as Tony blinked slowly "oookay, mildly terrifying, but I really shouldn't have expected anything else from you".

Turning his attention towards Steve, Tony gave the supersoldier the same smile "how about you Steve? How's life treating you? I hear you got a nice little apartment over in DC. My ego is still bruised over you turning down my very generous offer of your own special floor over at Avengers HQ, bee-tee-dubs". The blonde shook his head with a fond smile at Tony's dramatic antics, they had begun to get along a lot better since the Battle of New York, or at least, they did once Tony stopped treating Steve like the 1940s war hero that his father had ranted and raved about for most of his childhood.

And once he did, the billionaire was absolutely delighted to find out that the Captain was a sarcastic little shit. A man after his own shrapnel ridden heart it would seem.

"I'm fine Tony, and so is the apartment, thank you for asking, although I'm sure it pales in comparison to whatever high-tech talking toaster wonderland it is that you live in back at the tower" Steve snarked in reply and Tony huffed good-naturedly. "For your information, Captain Spandex. I do not have a talking toaster. But now I'm going to make one, so thank you for that idea". Rolling his eyes Steve gave a low chuckle at the petulant declaration, the sound of his short laughter making the slumped figure beside him groan loudly.

"Oh my god, please stop flirting. You're like our Dad's, it's gross" Barton complained, lifting his head from its place resting on top of his folded arms so he could pull a trademark Ew face at the other two men.

"Wow, okay. Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning Hawkbrain?" Tony asked rhetorically whilst raising an inquisitive eyebrow, the action and words earning the genius a particularly aggressive finger flip before the archer placed his head back into the confines of his surprisingly muscular arms.

Natasha who must have slid her phone away sometime during the conversation reached over to flick Clint roughly in the back of the head causing the man to yelp loudly in betrayal "OWW WHAT THE FUCK NAT!".

The redhead paid the pouting archer no mind, instead choosing to address Tony with a roll of her eyes "just ignore him, Tony, he's in a mood because he only got back early hours this morning from a field mission and had already planned on sleeping for the next seventy-two hours. That is until Fury dragged his ass in for this emergency meeting". Barton whined pitifully in his throat, adding to her commentary with a slight exaggerated sniffle "I was going to have so much sleep, it was going to be beautiful, like my own personal coma".

Natasha gave the archer another flick across the back of his head, softer this time, fonder, as she commented in a half heart warning tone "don't tempt me, or I might just put you in an actual coma". Barton dutifully remained quiet, instead choosing to shuffle himself closer to her and place his head on her lap in defeat… or exhaustion, one of two at least. Smirking at the sight, Tony commented sarcastically as the archer seemed to settle into a comfortable position, nuzzling his face into the black fabric of the ex-Russian's leggings "well now look who's flirting and being gross?"

Clint just flipped him the finger again.

Having had his fun with Barton, Tony decided to address the big question they were probably all thinking, well, all of them except for Nat, as there's always a 73% chance she already knows what's going on in any given situation. Goddamn creepy spy powers!

"Sooo.. does anybody actually know what this emergency meeting is about? Cause I'm really hoping it's not another Alien invasion, I have a spa weekend planned and a hot stone massage with my name on it" Tony asked casually as he took his phone out from the inner pocket of his jacket and subtly checked the screen, J.A.R.V.I.S helpfully displaying the information he wanted to see without him having to ask.

1 MINUTE REMAINING UNTIL FULL SYSTEM SYNCHRONIZATION

-Insert mental nefarious hand rubbing motion here-

Keeping a hold of the phone Tony watched as Natasha and Steve shrugged cluelessly in lieu of his question, his suspicions spiking well past their usual level of funk-detection. Narrowing his eyes the genius clicked his tongue "well whatever it is, I hope it gives him a good excuse for being late to his own emergency meeting". Steve snorted loudly at Tony's statement, replying with a bemused shake of the head "it's Fury, does he need an excuse?". The super soldier's words earning a chuff of agreement from Natasha who had slowly begun to thread her fingers absently through Clint's hair, much to the archer's pleasure.

Eyes flashing towards his phone Tony bit his lip to smother a smirk as the entire contents of S.H.I.E.L.D became accessible to him thanks to J.A.R.V.I.S' magic little AI fingers.

No longer irritated by the lack of Director Fury's presence Tony flicked through the files at lightning speed, silently thanking his unique ability to read up to 20,000 words per minute.

Boring.

Boring.

Boring.

Save file

Boring.

Bor- Pausing Tony cocked his head as a file caught his interest.

Last updated 57 minutes ago and labelled with a ridiculously long alphanumeric code that practically screamed 'Top Secret Keep Out'. Curiosity piqued Tony clicked onto the file, his intrigue only deepening when J.A.R.V.I.S had to work through a further three layers of extra security in order to give him access.

The file opened and right on cue Director Fury strolled purposely through the doors, black leather trench coat billowing behind him in true dramatic fashion, and Tony would know, he's an expert in being a Drama Queen™. Taking a few seconds to give the leather-loving Cyclops his best 'im behaving' grin, Tony turned back to the file, only half listening as Fury droned about a...nature preserve?

SUSPECT apprehended at 1600 hours, location- BEACON COUNTY NATURE PRESERVE (well at least that explained what Fury was droning on about, not that Tony cared much for context, he just wanted to know about the mysterious 'SUSPECT').

SUSPECT unconscious upon retrieval, no observable injuries other than a single clean incision of approximately 3 centimetres on right forearm, wound shape consistent with the blade of a Swiss army knife found in SUSPECT'S trouser pocket. Traces of dried blood on knife blade indicative of self-inflicted injury. Signs of exhaustion and slight malnutrition are also apparent.

UPDATE/ Upon waking SUSPECT refused all attempts at communication.

CURRENT INFORMATION/

NAME- Unknown

AGE- Unknown

ENHANCED STATUS- Unknown (although highly likely)

UPDATE/ SUSPECT refuses to communicate still, neglecting offerings of water and food in exchange for Intel.

UPDATE/ DNA, FINGERPRINT and FACIAL RECOGNITION searches NEGATIVE. No evidence of SUSPECT in any system.

Eyebrows raising slightly at that tidbit of information, Tony continued further through the file only to find nothing else. Disappointed the genius almost put his phone down in favour of actually listening to the Director when he spotted a video file under the same name, time-stamped to match the earliest reporting in the file. J.A.R.V.I.S, ever the little genius had already muted his phone speakers so when Tony opened the video he didn't have to worry about Fury and the others hearing him snooping.

Gaze glued to the screen the billionaire watched as the camera blinked into action revealing a standard looking S.H.I.E.L.D holding cell with its four grey walls and a metal table and chair bolted to the floor. Tony found himself less interested in the sub-par interior decor, however, and more interested in the figure sitting in the chair, chained to a small loop embedded onto the table's surface. Unfortunately for him, the individual's shoulders were slumped, body curled inwards and face angled down so all Tony could tell from the position of the camera was that they had short messy brown hair and pale mole dotted skin. They also appeared to be wearing a dress-shirt and black slacks, not exactly an outfit to go hiking in a forest the billionaire mused to himself. Long fingers twitched from their place on the table surface, the tips tapping out a mindless beat on the metal as an agent tried, and failed to get them to talk.

Observing the feed closely Tony noted with slight concern just how skinny the person actually was, 'slight malnutrition' was an understatement. They looked like they hadn't had a good meal in weeks, the shirt practically hanging off their bony shoulders. After a few minutes, the video was almost finished, the suspect now sitting alone in the cell, the agent having obviously left the individual to 'stew' in silence as an interrogation technique. Having almost given up on seeing the person's face Tony's thumb hovered over his phone screen ready to close the video and try to pay attention to Fury's inane ramblings.

And then it happened.

With only 5 seconds left on the recording the person finally looked up and that's when Tony felt weight drop into his stomach like a bag of stones, an exclamation pulling forth from his lips as J.A.R.V.I.S froze the frame, big honey coloured doe eyes staring out from the phone screen with a burning gaze.

It was a fucking kid!

"Son of a bitch"

Smothering the urge to wince, Tony glanced up sheepishly at the four individuals staring at him like he'd grown a second head. Fury, in particular, looked..well...furious.

"Something you'd care to share with the rest of the class, Stark?" the Director asked, one eyebrow raised expectantly as he stood with his arms held behind his back, the picture of an authority figure scolding the bad behaviour of a child.

Wrong move.

Straightening up Tony placed his phone on the table and turned his smile sharp, his cocky exterior coming out in full force in a natural response at the condescension radiating off the older man.

"Sorry" the genius began speaking, tone not at all apologetic before he continued casually, levelling his best 'innocent' face towards the Director "I was just wondering when you were going to get to the part where you try and justify imprisoning a minor who is obviously ill and injured, without lawful cause".

A pause followed his words, and then "Wait ...what?!" Clint blurted out in confusion, all previous signs of tiredness wiped from his voice at the seriousness of the accusation and Tony turned to face the trio. Taking in the perplexed stares from Clint and Steve and the stony expression on Natasha's face, the genius gave a grin made of sharp edges and suppressed anger. Fury remained uncharacteristically silent through this exchange, the only outward sign of his irritation at Tony's audacity was the twitching of a single muscle in his jaw.

Taking the lack of verbal response from the Director as his queue to continue talking, Tony gestured vaguely to the three large plasma screens where an aerial view of a forest was displayed, a large portion of its natural woodland destroyed. "I mean, that is where you were going with this, yeah? The whole spiel about California nature preserves and abnormal spikes in radiation? You were obviously going to tell us that you'd found an unconscious AND injured kid and thought it would be a great idea to treat them like a terrorist and shackle them to an interrogation table when they clearly look to be in need of serious medical attention". Tilting his head in faux confusion Tony waited impatiently for Fury to answer as Natasha, Clint and Steve levelled equally expectant stares onto the older man, clearly awaiting a response too.

They finally got it, the Director's scowl deepening and brow furrowed as he leaned forward and braced his hands against the table. "Listen here Stark, that 'kid' in there? He was the only living things for miles. And my agents found him right in the middle of that shit storm, unscathed. I've got scientists telling me it's physically impossible for a human to have survived the heat of a blast that decimated 46% of woodland, never mind not have a single synge or burn on his entire body, yet there he was. So forgive me, please, if my decision to exercise a little caution with our new guest regardless of their age, rubs you up the wrong way!".

Leaping up from his seat Tony pointed angrily at Fury, a venomous snarl twisting his face as he spat out the bitter words burning the tip of his tongue. "You see! That! That right there is why I don't trust you or your goddamn organisation. You claim to be the good guys but you lie to our faces and then when you're called out on it, you think you can just justify your terrible actions by saying you were doing it for safety? Bullshit Nick!". Leaning down Tony grabbed his phone from the table and swiped upwards angrily, the action bringing forth the frozen image of the teen as a holographic projection for all to of the room's occupants to see. Practically thrusting the hologram in the Director's face Tony pitched his voice low, eyes flashing with a wave of burning anger "look me in the eye right now Nick and tell me you honestly think that kid right there is a threat. The one who looks like he's seen hell and looks like a stiff fucking breeze would blow him over. Look me right in the face and tell me, go on".

The Director blew out a heavy sigh, eye closing briefly in a surprising show of weakness as he addressed the genius with a tired reluctance "I have my orders Stark, the WSC aren't willing to have another Battle of New York on their hands. And that means tracking down and containing any threats that cross our radar, even if the threat looks like a teenager". Shaking his head Tony scoffed loudly before speaking "unbelievable, even after that stunt they pulled with the nuke you're still taking their orders like a good little soldier".

"Tony's right"

Glancing at Steve in mild surprise, Tony inched his eyebrows towards his hairline as the super soldier continued his voice firm and commanding as it addressed the Director. "Fighting for, and protecting the freedom of this planet isn't about taking orders, it's about doing what's right. And locking up a minor isn't right, no matter how dangerous you think they might be". Clint then chimed in, looking over at Nat with a wry smirk "yeah, I dunno about you Nat, but I didn't agree to work for an organisation that locks up kids". Nat levelled a dark look at Fury who met her stare with admirable fearlessness as she spoke up with a cold and calculating tone "me either, Clint".

Grinning victoriously Tony tilted his head upwards, bolstered by having the team-his team's support behind him "looks like you're outnumbered on this Fury, and I'm pretty sure Thunder-pants and Brucie-Bear would agree with the side that doesn't condone the imprisonment of children".

Scowling Fury rose up and crossed his arms in a defensive pose "and what, do you suggest we do instead Stark? I'm sure you read in the file that he doesn't have any records in any system, so there's no parents or family members we can contact". The Director waited for the genius to answer, clearly believing that he'd backed Tony into a corner with no way out.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Shrugging Tony grinned wider, stating in the most obvious tone he could muster, much to Fury's annoyance.

"He's going to stay with me in the Tower of course"


	3. Chapter 3

*FLASHBACK*

Releasing a small sigh, Stiles closed his eyes and listened intently as the gentle sound of raindrops hitting the sleek exterior of the Camaro combined with the soft tones of jazz filling the air. His short moment of tranquillity was broken, however, when a full body shiver ran through him and he found himself moving almost on autopilot; pulling his hoodie tighter around his chest and curling as close as he could to the car's heater. All in bid to chase away the icy chill in his bones...A chill that's been lingering ever since Scott freed him from the Nogitsune mere hours ago.

Reminded painfully once again of the demonic fox, Stiles raised a hand and pressed his fingers to the still tender stretch of skin behind his ear; heart only easing slightly in its rabbit-face pace when his fingertips easily found the raised lines of the Kanji symbol for "self" branded onto the surface of his neck by the Oni.

A true sign he wasn't Void anymore.

Momentarily reassured by the marks continued presence Stiles reopened his eyes and glanced sideways, gaze falling on the ever silent and handsomely brooding figure of Derek Hale as he drove into the night. Clearing his throat gently he briefly considered the idea of saying something inappropriate or sarcastic like usual, but the words died on his tongue, instead, his mouth gave birth to a more sombre and sincere tone.

"I'm sorry"

He wasn't really hoping for much of a response if he was being entirely honest, already intimately familiar with werewolf's certain fondness for using his words sparsely enough to know that the chances of gaining a response were slim to none. He just wanted Derek to know he was sorry, for everything he'd done, he wasn't asking for forgiveness, not when he knew he didn't deserve it.

"Why?" the beta had furrowed his dark brows and barely spared a glance towards him as he grunted out his one-word response, the usual lack of verbal eloquence present in his tone. Swivelling his head around to look fully at Derek, Stiles gave the werewolf an expression of pure disbelief, had the former alpha hit his head recently? Or did the dickhead just want him to be specific and list all of the treacherous things he'd done the past few days? Anger festered low in his gut at that bitter thought Stiles clenched his fists tightly in order to stop himself from doing something completely reckless, like punching the werewolf in the face when he was driving.

"Why? What the fuck do you mean why? There is a literal LIST of reasons for me to be apologising right now!" Stiles snapped, eyes glaring daggers at Derek who continued to drive like there was nothing wrong.

Sensing Stiles' anger Derek shook his head and huffed in what appeared to be frustration before speaking firmly, tone implying that his words should be the simplest thing on the planet to understand when all Stiles could hear was bullshit. "It wasn't you Stiles. It was the Nogitsune who did all of those things, so you have nothing to be sorry for". Biting his tongue roughly Stiles turned his eyes to the window and kept silent, unable to even look at Derek when the guilt in his chest was screaming like a Banshee at the lies falling from the beta's lips.

…..Because it was his fault.

He let the Nogitsune in in the first place, and then he wasn't even strong enough to fight it when it dug its way into his mind and tore away at his memories like tissue paper, plucking out the most intimate of information to use in its plans of chaos and strife.

Every single sick and twisted thing the Nogitsune did was his fault… because it used his mind and his body to do it.

Keeping these thoughts to himself Stiles continued to stare out of the window, watching transfixed as the drops of rain raced down the glass and merged with each other to create larger droplets. The tense silence which followed Derek's statement stretched out between the two for the remainder of the ride, only broken once the Camaro pulled into the station's parking lot and Stiles began to unbuckle his seat belt, a clearly disgruntled note to his words near the end of his sentence.

"Thanks for the ride Sourwolf, tell Scott I want an update on their search for Lydia and the Nogitusune will you? I have a feeling he's going to try and bench me as much as he can for the rest of this fight. Probably thinks I won't be able to handle it"

Reaching for the handle Stiles opened the door with a swing and moved to step out, pausing only because of a warm hand landing on his shoulder. Turning slowly Stiles' gaze connected with Derek's, his heart thumping slightly faster as he tried not to get lost in the kaleidoscope tones of deep green, earth brown and dark blue which made up the former alpha's eyes. Unaware, or more likely uncaring of the embarrassing effect he was having on Stiles, Derek gave his bony shoulder a gentle squeeze, a phantom echo of a move Stiles distantly remembered doing to the werewolf back in the loft when Boyd had just died.

"Stay safe Stiles. Please"

Swallowing thickly Stiles nodded, not trusting himself to say much other than a quick "you too" before exiting the car into the rain. Cursing the weather Stiles shut the door quickly and began to jog across the wet tarmac, sneakers squelching in the large puddles which littered the ground like miniature oceans.

Grateful when he finally ducked into the cover of station's reception area, Stiles paid no particular mind to the absence of Danielle at the desk, assuming that she was in the bathroom or in the evidence room doing filing, as so she often did during the town's slower nights. Fingers trailing along the surface of the desk Stiles debated on trying to surprise his dad with his return in some way before quickly deciding that his old man was 100% likely to smack him across the back of the head if he did such a thing. Giving the thought a fond smile Stiles made his way through the main room, weaving expertly through all the empty desks towards the back where his dad's office was positioned, door visibly ajar and spilling warm light outwards.

He was probably working like crazy trying to find him.

Hurrying around the last desk Stiles grinned as the office came into view, his mouth open ready to call out a casual greeting of "hey daddio!" when the words suddenly died in his throat.

Something was lying on the floor, just visible in the gap made by the door, a boot. Faltering slightly in his movements Stiles felt his stomach drop, his heart skipping a few beats as he recognised the lovingly worn combat boots.

"DAD!"

Leaping into action Stiles breached the short distance left between himself and the office with a few long strides, palm pushing against the door to open it wider only for the wood to bounce off something heavy and unyielding. Shaking his head Stiles began to mutter underneath his breath in panic "nonononono please god no" as he squeezed into the office through the small space available and dropped to his knees over his dad's prone body.

He was lying on his back, positioned directly in front of the door and head turned towards his desk as if he'd fallen down suddenly and had no way to catch himself. For a split second Stiles was sure his worst fears had come true and that he'd had a heart attack, but then a sickly iron smell hit him like a punch to the face and he fought the urge to gag as his eyes finally landed on a bright red stain spreading quickly across his dad's abdomen.

It was all happening so fast.

It wasn't fair.

He'd entered the station with the belief that he'd finally get to hug his dad after days of hellish torment being trapped in his own mind, fully prepared for the spiel which would most likely follow said hug, a well-rehearsed speech consisting mostly of him being grounded for "being reckless and giving an old man more grey hairs than he needs". But that wasn't happening and he couldn't breathe because all he could see was blood, blood was too warm and too red and all too slick as it leaked between his shaking fingers, bubbling up persistently as he quickly pressed his hands on the wound.

The pressure caused a groan to spill forth from his dad's lips and Stiles gave a little cry of relief at the sign of life as his dad's head turned suddenly, pale green eyes shifting into focus and then falling onto him, recognition flickering just beneath a cloud of pain.

"Sss… Stiles?". Nodding encouragingly at the hopeful whisper, Stiles let out a watery laugh, thick salty tears streaming down his face as he tried to be strong, tried to hold it together long enough to keep his dad alive.

"Y-yeah daddio, it's me this time, I promise. I'm ..I'm back… Scott... Scott got me out, Lydia too. I'm here". His dad smiled at his stuttered words of confirmation, expression so soft and full of love, like Stiles had given him the greatest gift of all by coming back to him and he bit his lip to stop himself from crying uncontrollably.

A sob finally wrenched its way out however when his dad began to lift his hand, arm shaking with the effort to bring his palm up to cup Stiles' cheek like he'd done thousands of times before, warm calloused fingers cradling the side of his face in a comforting embrace. Leaning into the touch Stiles adjusted his hold on the wound carefully, shifting one hand free to reach into his pocket in search of his phone, blood-soaked fingers fumbling as they gripped the device.

"It's going to be okay pops, I just-I just n-need to ring an ambulance and they'll fix you right up okay?" Stiles reassured his dad shakily as he swiped at the phone screen, bringing up the emergency call option and dialling 911. Quickly setting the phone on loudspeaker Stiles placed it on the floor beside his right leg as he returned the hand to the wound, pressing down once again with renewed vigour.

The dial tone started and seconds passed which felt like an eternity, an eternity where Stiles could see his dad struggling more and more to keep himself conscious. Stiles was close to screaming when the operator finally picked up with a crisp "hello, this is 911, what's your emergency?". Aware that time was of the essence Stiles rattled off the necessary details to the woman on the phone as quickly as he could, trying and failing not to think about how the hand on his face was growing colder by the second. Feeling the hand begin to slip off his cheek Stiles pressed tighter to the wound, murmuring softly to his dad as the operator informed him that an ambulance was now on its way before hanging up.

"H-hey, hey! Stay with me okay old man? You need to stay awake and yell at me for getting possessed by an evil fox spirit. And I promise...I promise I won't even talk back this time. Do you hear me, dad? This is probably the only time this is ever going to happen in the history of forever! Stiles Stilinski promising not to talk back". It was nonsense, he knew he was just rambling anything that came to his mind, a mind clouded with panic that only got worse as the hand fully fell away, dropping to the floor with a dull smack.

Shaking his head in denial Stiles began to pray for the first time in his life since his mother fell ill, he prayed to whoever was out there listening right now that he would do anything not to lose his dad too.

But his dad's breathing grew shallow, chest moving up and down slower and slower until the movement was almost nonexistent. By this time Stiles had moved past hysterically begging for his dad to hold on, to not leave him all alone, and had started to wail. A series of gut-wrenching cries of grief that poured forth from his lungs into the dead of night as the light died from his father's eyes.

The paramedics arrived five minutes later, too late to do anything but watch solemnly as Stiles clutched desperately to his dad's body like a child, holding the older man's head to his chest as he rocked slowly back and forth, all the while begging softly for him to wake up. The Nogitsune's words ringing loud and clear in his mind.

**"Your friends…. Your family.. Everyone who ever meant something to you, we're going to destroy all of them, Stiles! One by one"**


End file.
